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The Lantern Rite bathed Liyue Harbor in its usual splendor—golden lights shimmering on the dark waters, laughter ringing out from every corner of the bustling square, and the scent of freshly roasted chestnuts wafting through the air. Perched on the curved roof of a teahouse, Hu Tao leaned back on her elbows, biting into a tanghulu and letting the syrupy sweetness linger on her tongue. Her gaze scanned the festival below with casual amusement, flitting from one colorful lantern to another, until it landed on a figure that had started to feel oddly familiar.
There, in the center of the crowd, you stood.
The knight looked as composed as ever, your silver armor gleaming under the warm glow of the lanterns. You weren’t just a part of the crowd; you commanded it, your very presence exuding calm authority. Even the most distracted festivalgoers paused to glance your way. Some whispered your name, reverent and full of awe. Others simply stared, drawn to you like moths to a flame.
Hu Tao tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as if studying an artifact. “So, that’s your game, huh?” she muttered, her voice light and teasing, though no one was around to hear. She popped the rest of the tanghulu into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Her eyes lingered on you as you knelt to help a small child retrieve a fallen lantern. The gesture was simple, almost automatic, yet there was a quiet grace to it that made even the mundane seem significant. Hu Tao watched as you spoke to the child, your words too soft to carry, but judging by the child’s shy smile, they were gentle.
“Pristine,” Hu Tao mused aloud, her lips curling into a grin. “That’s the word for you. Perfectly polished, perfectly poised. You’re like one of those storybook knights—noble and unshakable. But perfection’s just a mask, isn’t it? Nobody’s really like that, not all the time.”
She chuckled to herself, her grin widening. “What are you hiding, oh shiny knight? And more importantly, how much fun will it be to find out?”
Over the next few weeks, Hu Tao found herself drawn to you like a moth to a flame of her own. It wasn’t as if she sought the knight out intentionally—well, not always. You simply had a way of being everywhere at once: overseeing a shipment at the harbor, sparring with the Millelith in the plaza, or offering your steady presence during diplomatic gatherings.
Wherever you went, you seemed to leave an impression. Merchants spoke of your fairness, children marveled at your kindness, and even the normally wary Millelith had nothing but praise for your discipline and skill.
“Everyone loves you,” Hu Tao muttered one evening, lounging in her office at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. She tossed a paper talisman into the air, watching it flutter down lazily. “The merchants, the soldiers, the little old ladies at the harbor. ‘Oh, the knight helped me carry my crates. Oh, the knight saved my cart from rolling into the sea.’ It’s like you’re allergic to flaws or something.”
She sat up abruptly, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “But perfection’s boring. And something tells me you’re not boring. So, what makes you tick, my dear knight? What makes you laugh? What makes you angry? What makes you... human?”
It wasn’t long before Hu Tao decided to test her theory. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit, but she knew enough to be careful. Someone as disciplined as you wouldn’t respond to direct prying, and where was the fun in that, anyway?
The first move was simple: a floating lantern, crafted with care and inscribed with a riddle. Hu Tao released it into the harbor one quiet evening, grinning as it drifted toward your patrol route.
Sure enough, you spotted it. You knelt by the water’s edge, plucking the lantern from the surface with practiced ease. Your fingers traced the carved letters as you read the message aloud, your voice low but steady:
“Oh, noble knight, so calm, so still,
A riddle awaits—test your will.
What’s lighter than air but weighs down the heart?
Solve it, and you might find the answer’s a start.”
Hu Tao watched from the shadows, barely suppressing her laughter. Your expression didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of curiosity in your eyes as you murmured, “A secret.”
“Smart and perceptive,” Hu Tao whispered to herself. “You’re going to make this very interesting.”
Days later, Hu Tao caught a glimpse of something that made her pause. You were at the harbor again, overseeing the delivery of festival supplies. Everything about your posture was perfect—straight back, steady gaze, calm efficiency. But then a fisherman dropped a crate, sending goods tumbling into the water.
You moved immediately, helping the man retrieve his wares. Your voice was soft but firm as you reassured him, “Take care next time. No harm done.”
The fisherman nodded, grateful, but Hu Tao’s attention wasn’t on the exchange. It was on the brief moment afterward, when you straightened and turned toward the horizon. For just a second, your shoulders dipped, and a tired sigh escaped your lips. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but Hu Tao caught it.
“There it is,” she murmured, her grin softening. “A crack in the armor. You’re not invincible, after all.”
That night, as Hu Tao sat on the roof of Wangshu Inn, her thoughts wandered back to you. She traced the memory of that fleeting sigh, that tiny moment of vulnerability, over and over like a treasure she didn’t fully understand yet.
“Dearie,” she muttered, resting her chin in her palm. “The perfect knight with the perfect smile. Everyone sees you, but do they really see you? I wonder... if I push just a little harder, will you let me in? And if you do...”
She paused, her grin softening into something almost wistful. “I wonder if I’ll like what I find.”
Below her, the lights of Liyue Harbor flickered like stars, and somewhere among them, you moved, steady and unyielding as ever. Hu Tao leaned back with a sigh, the familiar spark of curiosity igniting into something warmer, something closer to admiration.
“And here I thought this was just going to be fun,” she muttered, closing her eyes with a grin. “Looks like you’re already proving me wrong.”
The streets of Liyue Harbor were quieter in the early morning, the hustle of merchants and travelers still hours away. You appreciated these tranquil hours. They gave you time to think, to prepare for the day, and, more importantly, to avoid unnecessary attention. The knight’s duties as a liaison often placed you in the spotlight, a role you bore with grace but not without effort.
Today, however, your solitude was broken by a sharp, lilting voice.
“Well, if it isn’t Liyue’s favorite guest of honor! Out for a morning stroll, are we?”
You turned your head, your gaze landing on Hu Tao, perched precariously on the edge of a low stone wall. The director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor swung her legs idly, a mischievous grin plastered across her face. She looked like she had been waiting there specifically for this encounter, though you couldn’t fathom why.
“Good morning, Director Hu,” you replied, your tone polite but measured. You weren’t sure what to make of this peculiar young woman who seemed to find endless amusement in your presence.
“Oh, no need for the formalities!” Hu Tao hopped down from the wall, brushing imaginary dust from her tunic. “Just ‘Hu Tao’ is fine. Or ‘your most esteemed and charming companion,’ if you prefer.” She winked, clearly pleased with herself.
You arched an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Hu Tao, then. Can I help you with something?”
“Help me? Nah.” Hu Tao waved her hand dismissively. “But maybe I can help you. I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been looking a little... stiff lately. All work and no play, huh?”
“Work requires focus,” you replied evenly. “I don’t mind.”
“Focus is great and all,” Hu Tao said, leaning in slightly, “but too much of it can make you boring.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she added, “And you don’t seem like the boring type, do you, dear knight?”
You weren’t sure how to respond. Hu Tao’s words were lighthearted, but there was an undertone of something deeper, a challenge veiled in playful banter. Before you could reply, Hu Tao clapped her hands together and spun around dramatically.
“Well, no need to answer that now,” she said, her voice sing-song. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. After all, I’m sure fate will throw us together again soon. That’s how these things work, right?”
“Is that so?” You asked, your tone dry but not unkind.
“Oh, absolutely.” Hu Tao turned back, walking backward as she spoke. “But until then, here’s a little something to keep you on your toes.”
With a flick of her wrist, she tossed something toward you. You caught it instinctively—a small paper talisman, folded with care. You unfolded it to reveal another riddle, inked in elegant strokes:
“To see the unseen, to hear the unheard,
You must leave behind every spoken word.
Where silence speaks and shadows dwell,
The answer waits—so search it well.”
You glanced up, but Hu Tao was already gone, her laughter echoing down the street like a playful ghost.
Later that week, you found herself crossing paths with Hu Tao again, this time at the outskirts of Qingce Village. You had been sent to investigate reports of hilichurl activity in the area, but instead of a hostile encounter, you were greeted by the sight of Hu Tao crouched near a stream, humming a cheerful tune as she skipped stones across the water.
“Director Hu,” you called out, your voice steady but edged with surprise.
Hu Tao looked up, her face lighting up as if she had been expecting you all along. “Ah, it’s you! Fancy meeting you here. Come to join me for a bit of leisurely stone-skipping?”
“I was under the impression this area was unsafe,” you replied, stepping closer. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know,” Hu Tao said, tossing another stone into the stream. “Communing with nature, enjoying the fresh air... and maybe keeping an eye on those hilichurls over there.” She pointed casually to a distant hillside, where a small group of hilichurls milled about.
You frowned. “You shouldn’t be here alone. It’s dangerous.”
Hu Tao waved off the concern. “Dangerous? Please. I’m more than capable of handling a few hilichurls. Besides, I knew you’d show up sooner or later. You knights are predictable like that.”
You crossed your arms, your expression firm. “That doesn’t excuse recklessness.”
Hu Tao tilted her head, studying you with an amused smile. “You really do take everything so seriously, don’t you? I like that about you.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. “I—what?”
“You’re like a rock,” Hu Tao continued, rising to her feet and dusting off her hands. “Steady, unyielding, dependable. It’s... refreshing.” Her grin softened slightly, losing some of its usual mischief. “But even rocks can crack if you don’t let them rest every once in a while.”
You didn’t know what to say. The conversation had taken a turn you hadn’t expected, and Hu Tao’s words lingered longer than they should have.
That evening, as you prepared your report on the hilichurl sightings, you found your thoughts drifting back to Hu Tao. The director’s playful demeanor masked a sharp wit and a disarming insightfulness that you hadn’t anticipated.
“She’s... unusual,” you muttered to yourself, setting your quill aside. “But not in a bad way.”
The paper talisman Hu Tao had given you earlier sat on the edge of the desk. You picked it up, running your thumb over the inked riddle.
“To see the unseen,” you murmured. “What are you trying to show me, Hu Tao?”
Outside, the city lights of Liyue Harbor shimmered in the distance, and you found yourself wondering when fate—or Hu Tao’s peculiar sense of timing—would bring the both of you together again.
The air in Liyue Harbor was crisp and cool, a prelude to the coming rain. You stood near the northern pier, overseeing the final checks of a shipment bound for Mondstadt. Your knightly presence was enough to put even the most jittery dockworkers at ease, your composed demeanor like a steadying anchor amidst the bustle.
Everything about you exuded calm professionalism, and yet, a flicker of unease tugged at the corner of your mind. It was subtle, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach—a feeling that had become increasingly familiar over the past few weeks. It always seemed to arise after your encounters with Hu Tao.
The director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor had a way of turning the simplest conversations into puzzles and the most mundane meetings into memorable events. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Hu Tao’s company oddly... refreshing. And perhaps a little distracting.
“Thinking hard, huh?”
The voice startled you out of your reverie. You turned to see Hu Tao perched on the railing of the pier, balancing effortlessly despite the narrow beam beneath her feet.
“You have a habit of appearing out of nowhere,” you remarked, your tone measured but tinged with a faint amusement.
Hu Tao grinned, hopping down with practiced ease. “Well, someone has to keep you on your toes, right? Otherwise, you might turn into one of those stone statues on the mountain. All duty, no fun.”
“Some might say that’s an admirable quality.”
“Some might. But I’m not ‘some,’ am I?” Hu Tao countered, folding her arms as her grin softened into something more genuine. “Here.”
She held out a small package wrapped in crimson silk. You blinked, momentarily taken aback.
“What is this?”
“A gift,” Hu Tao said simply. “Don’t worry, it’s not a prank. This time.”
You accepted the package cautiously, untying the silk to reveal a beautifully carved jade amulet. The intricate design depicted a phoenix rising from flames, its wings curling in an elegant arc.
“It’s... beautiful,” you said, your voice quiet. You traced the edges of the amulet with your thumb, marveling at the craftsmanship.
“Thought you’d like it,” Hu Tao said, her tone unusually soft. “A phoenix suits you. Rising from the ashes and all that. Strong, resilient... and maybe just a little too serious for its own good.”
You looked up, meeting Hu Tao’s gaze. There was no trace of mischief in her expression, only a warm sincerity that caught you off guard.
“Why?” You asked after a moment.
Hu Tao tilted her head. “Why what?”
“Why give this to me? You’ve never struck me as the sentimental type.”
Hu Tao laughed lightly. “Maybe I’m full of surprises. Or maybe...” She hesitated, something rare and vulnerable flickering in her eyes. “Maybe I just thought you could use a reminder that not everything in life is about duty.”
Your lips parted, but no words came. You weren’t sure how to respond to such a genuine gesture.
Hu Tao shrugged, breaking the silence. “Besides, you’ve been working hard lately. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t burn out. And if that someone happens to be me, well, lucky you!”
The teasing grin was back, but you could tell it was a mask for the softer emotions Hu Tao rarely let slip.
“Thank you,” you said at last, your voice steady but sincere. “It means more than you know.”
A few days later, you found yourself wandering the streets of Liyue in search of something you hadn’t anticipated: Hu Tao. The jade amulet rested against your chest, hidden beneath your dress shirt, but its presence was a constant reminder of the funeral director’s unexpected kindness.
You found Hu Tao outside the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, chatting animatedly with one of her employees. The moment Hu Tao spotted you; her expression lit up.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the pristine knight! To what do I owe the honor?”
You hesitated briefly before speaking. “I wanted to thank you. For the amulet.”
“Oh, you already did that,” Hu Tao replied breezily. “But if you’re here to thank me again, I won’t stop you.”
You smiled faintly. “I was also wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner. As a gesture of appreciation.”
Hu Tao blinked, genuinely surprised. “You’re inviting me to dinner? Oh, this is rich.” She laughed, clapping her hands together. “Why, you’re full of surprises yourself.”
“Is that a, yes?”
“Of course, it’s a yes!” Hu Tao grinned. “But only if you let me pick the place. I know the best little spot in Liyue Harbor—small, cozy, and the plum wine is to die for. Figuratively, of course.”
The restaurant Hu Tao chose was indeed small and cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The warm glow of lanterns illuminated the space, casting soft shadows across the wooden beams.
Over the course of the evening, you found yourself relaxing in Hu Tao’s presence more than you expected. The conversation flowed easily, weaving between lighthearted banter and unexpectedly deep topics. Hu Tao’s wit was sharp as ever, but there was a warmth to her words that you hadn’t fully appreciated before.
“You know,” Hu Tao said at one point, swirling her cup of plum wine thoughtfully, “when I first saw you, I thought, ‘Here’s someone who’s got it all figured out.’ But now...” She looked at you, her gaze steady. “I think you’re still figuring things out. And that’s okay. It makes you more human.”
You regarded her for a moment, your expression softening. “You have a way of seeing people, don’t you?”
Hu Tao smirked. “Comes with the territory. Death teaches you a lot about life. And about people.”
For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to let down your guard completely. The night stretched on, filled with laughter, shared stories, and an unspoken understanding that neither of you needed to put on a façade.
As you left the restaurant, the rain that had been threatening all evening finally began to fall, gentle and cool against your skin. Hu Tao opened her umbrella, holding it over both of them as they walked side by side through the quiet streets.
“Thank you,” you said again, your voice soft but filled with meaning.
Hu Tao glanced at you, her grin softening into a genuine smile. “Anytime, my dear knight. Anytime.”
The moon hung low over Liyue Harbor, its light dancing across the rippling waters of the sea. The city was quieter now, most of its citizens tucked into their homes for the night. You leaned against the railing of a bridge overlooking the water, your mind a tangled knot of thoughts you couldn’t seem to untangle.
Your assignments in Liyue had been challenging, rewarding even, but tonight you felt a strange restlessness. Your hand brushed against the jade amulet beneath your dress shirt—a gift that had come to symbolize far more than a simple gesture of kindness.
You didn’t hear Hu Tao approach until the funeral director’s voice broke the silence.
“Thought I might find you here,” Hu Tao said, her tone lighter than the night air.
You glanced over your shoulder, surprised but not startled. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Finding me.”
Hu Tao grinned as she stepped closer, her eyes glinting like the stars above. “Well, you’re not exactly hard to find, Miss Pristine Knight. You’ve got a favorite spot for brooding, and here it is.”
“I’m not brooding,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips.
“Oh, sure, sure.” Hu Tao waved a hand dismissively as she leaned against the railing beside you. “And I’m not quirky. We all have our little quirks, you know? Yours just happens to be ‘staring dramatically into the distance.’ It’s endearing, really.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, a rare sound that caught even you off guard. “And what brings you out here tonight, Hu Tao? You don’t strike me as the type to wander aimlessly.”
Hu Tao’s grin softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost... shy. “Maybe I was worried about you. Maybe I thought you could use some company.”
You turned to face her fully, the surprise evident in your expression. “Worried? About me?”
“Well, yeah.” Hu Tao shrugged; her usual cheer tempered by something quieter. “You’ve been carrying a lot on your shoulders. I see it, even if you try to hide it. And, you know... even knights need someone to look out for them sometimes.”
The weight of Hu Tao’s words settled between the two of you, and for the first time in a long while, you felt the walls you had built around yourself waver.
“Thank you,” you said after a moment, your voice softer than usual. “But you don’t need to worry about me. I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” Hu Tao replied, her gaze unwavering. “But handling it alone doesn’t mean you have to. I’m here, you know. Whether you need a laugh, a distraction, or just someone to remind you that you’re more than your duties.”
You looked at her, really looked at her, and something inside you shifted. Hu Tao wasn’t just the playful, eccentric funeral director who delighted in riddles and pranks. She was someone who saw through your armor, who understood you in a way few people ever had.
“Why do you care so much?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hu Tao tilted her head, a smile playing at her lips. “Because I see you. Not the knight, not the diplomat—just you. And I like what I see.”
The air seemed to still, the world narrowing to just the two of you on the bridge. You felt your heart thrum in a way that was unfamiliar and unsettling, yet not unwelcome.
“You’re... different,” you said at last, your words measured but earnest.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hu Tao replied with a soft laugh.
“It is.”
For a moment, you two stood in silence, the gentle sound of the water below filling the space between them. Then, Hu Tao reached out, her hand brushing against yours. It was a small gesture, tentative but deliberate, and it sent a warmth coursing through you that you hadn’t expected.
You didn’t pull away. Instead, you turned your hand, letting your fingers intertwine. It was a quiet acknowledgment, a silent answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud.
Hu Tao’s smile widened, her cheeks faintly pink in the moonlight. “See? You’re not so hard to crack after all.”
“I think you’re the only one who could,” you admitted, your voice steady but filled with meaning.
Hu Tao squeezed your hand gently. “Guess that makes us even, then. You’ve been cracking me open since the day we met.”
As the night deepened, the two of you remained on the bridge, your hands still clasped together. For you, it felt like a turning point, a moment that marked the start of something new and unfamiliar but undeniably right.
For Hu Tao, it was a confirmation of what she had known all along—that beneath your pristine exterior was someone worth knowing, worth caring for, worth standing beside.
And for the both of you, it was the beginning of a bond that would only grow stronger with time, built on trust, understanding, and the quiet comfort of knowing you two had finally found someone who truly saw you for who you were.